


Fine In The Fire

by roxashasboxers



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Drug Use, Hank saves the day WITH SCIENCE!, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, References to prison, Self-Harm, X-Men First Class Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxashasboxers/pseuds/roxashasboxers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a prompt on the X-Men: First Class Kink Meme: What if Alex has learned to hurt himself as a release to prevent releasing his power? Up to anon when Alex starts this, as a child, in prison, in the Xavier mansion. Also up to anon who first discovers it too. I would love Alex/Hank (maybe an established relationship when it's discovered?), but can be gen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fine In The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Fix Me" by 10 Years.

  
  
"It's a release." She says, when somebody asks, "It's like the anger and sadness, like everything just flows out."  
  
Her words are slurred and she's mesmerized by her own hand, but Alex finds himself listening to this hopeless girl with clumped mascara.  
  
"It's incredible. When I cut, it's like... It's like I'm letting everything go." She says, waving her fingers through the smoke. Somebody makes a bad joke about blood loss that might have gotten them punched on any other day, but the girl with the scars throws her head back and laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world.  
  
"No." She says, "It's like it saves me."  
  
She giggles after, and nearly spills her drink, but Alex is still stuck on her words.  
  
She's not like him, he knows that, but he looks at his wrist anyway and watches her smile while he takes another drag.  
  


* * *

  
It becomes a ritual. Any time Alex feels the heat inside of him, he cuts. Just one quick slice into his arm and then he can breathe. There are no fires. There are no deaths. There are no problems.  
  
The razor is his savior, a best friend in his pocket. It keeps him in line and lets him be normal.   
  
Everything is okay when the blade is at hand.  
  
It's when it isn't that the world goes to shit.  
  


* * *

  
There are no razors in solitary. There are no knives, no pieces of scrap metal, nothing but Alex and his thoughts. He has teeth though, and his nails are long and ragged. If he's careful, nobody will ever know.  
  
He's careful. He has fifteen cuts that won't heal and blood under his nails, but he's careful.  
  
He is healthy when they come for him.  
  
He is perfectly fine.  
  


* * *

  
When Charles tells him that he's not alone, Alex's initial thought is of Scott. His second is of excitement. His third is to tell Charles to stay the fuck out of his head, with a glare thrown in for good measure.  
  
Erik looks impressed. Charles less so.  
  


* * *

  
"What are you doing?" Hank's quiet voice asks and Alex nearly maims himself in surprise.  
  
"Jesus fucking Christ, Bozo! Don't you know how to knock?" He asks angrily, careful to keep his back turned. His voice falls low again, but it's obvious Alex is still pissed, "What do you want?"  
  
Hank doesn't answer for a long while, and Alex thinks he might have left, but then he is reminded that the world doesn't like him that much.  
  
"What. Are. You. Doing?" Hank asks, and it sounds like a growl. Alex is silent this time and he tries not to flinch when the door closes. His heart is hammering angrily in his chest and Alex grips the razor a little tighter as if to hide it, but instead manages to slice open his palm. He bites back a hiss but doesn't loosen his grip.  
  
"Alex-"  
  
"It's none of your fucking buisness, McCoy!" Alex snaps, turning his head to the side so he can save face without looking like a coward, "Now get the fuck out!"  
  
There's a tense silence where neither boys breathes, and then Hank speaks, "No."  
  
It's simple. One word, two letters, and a hundred tiny knives thrown into Alex's heart, but none of them make him bleed like he wants. He swallows, hard. He's afraid.  
  
Hank steps forward and gestures to Alex's arm, "Let me see."  
  
"It's fine, Hank. I'm taking care of it." Alex growls, and moves into the bathroom. He starts to shut the door but Hank catches it and blocks his exit.  
  
"Alex..." He warns.  
  
"Let go of the door, Hank."  
  
"Not gonna happen." The taller boys says, shaking his head, "Not unless you let me see."  
  
Alex glares up at the scientist, " _Jesus-_ What the fuck do you care, Hank?"  
  
And he was going for angry, for threatening, but it sounds a little more lost and a lot more broken when the words pierce the air. Alex doesn't want Hank to care. He doesn't want anybody to care. He's _fine._  
  
"Of course I care." Hank says softly, and Alex rolls the razor in his hand so it bites a bit. This isn't a heart-to-heart. This is a fight. Alex can win fights.  
  
"We're not even friends, Hank!" He yells, exasperated, trying to goad the other boy into something, to show a little anger, speak a little louder, storm out and leave Alex alone with his best blade.  
  
"So?" Hank says back, louder, and he's stepping forward so he's right in Alex's face, towering over him, "You're still a person! Why wouldn't I care?"  
  
"Why would you?" Alex screams, and he's a little embarrassed when his voice cracks but Hank's stunned face is enough of a reaction, so he glares and calls it a win.  
  
"Because!" Hank sputters, "Because people care about each other, Alex! It's what we _do_. I don't _need_ a reason. Now shut up and let me look at your arm."  
  
"No." Alex says again, turning away for good measure. He's surprised when Hank grabs his shoulder and flips him back around, pinning him against the sink. The razor falls out of Alex's bloody hand and Hank's eyes dart towards it but he doesn't let Alex go. Instead, he uses the counter and wall to corner Alex and holds him there until Alex stops fighting.  
  
It doesn't take long because there is no knife and Alex knows what could happen. He knows the fire and he can't stop it without the blade. He stares at the razor on the floor and clenches his empty hand, "Let. Go."  
  
Hank doesn't answer him, holding Alex in a odd sort of half-hug and raising the injured arm for a closer look. A gust of air puffs out past his lips as he sees the multitude of scars already there, shiny and white. He makes a sort of pained noise and Alex tries to jerk away but Hank's grip is firm.  
  
"Let me stich you up." Hank says and Alex sneers at him before Hank finishes, but the scientist carries on, "That's not a request."  
  


* * *

  
Alex doesn't flinch while Hank sews the wound closed, though he does make it obvious that he doesn't want Hank's assistance. Judging by the crooked scars criss-crossing his skin, Alex has never had _any_ assistance before, and Hank has a feeling only half of these wounds were even stitched. Most probably just wrapped tight and forgotten. Hank's neat needle work looks out of place among the jagged zig-zags.  
  
He looks up at Alex when he's done, but the blond doesn't look back and he sure as hell doesn't offer up any explanation.  
  
Hank sighs, "Are you going to tell me what this is all about or do I have to get Charles to read your mind?"  
  
Alex looks at him sharply, "It's none of your business, Hank." And then, "Fuck this. I'm leaving."  
  
Alex hops down from the counter and grabs his jacket off of the bed, slipping it on. He leaves the room before Hank can stop him.  
  


* * *

  
It's gone. It's fucking gone. Shitfuckdamnfuckingchrist- it's _gone!_  
  
Alex digs through each of the drawers in his bathroom, tossing things onto the floor in his haste. His eyes are wide and his movements frantic, racing against the hourglass in his chest. A steady chant passes his lips, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It's gone. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where is it?"  
  
Alex pulls a drawer out with more force than he means to and it hits the floor with a thunk. He curses and dives to the floor, scouring every bit of tile desperately. He's sweating, nervous and hot, too hot, too much, he needs-  
  
Oh fuck, he can't find it. He can't fucking find it and he needs it, he's gonna kill someone, he can't control it and he needs the knife but it's not here, it's not here, it's not here, it's not-  
  
Alex rips the bandage off of his arm and bites opens Hank's stitches. He feels like an animal as he tears open his own skin but he's too desperate to care and he slides to the floor when the first drop of blood flows free. He watches it for as long as he can, the way the energy seeps out right along with it, makes it glow like embers hidden in ash. It's pretty, and Alex hates that his eyes close, exhausted and relieved, because he wants to watch his power when it's like this, beautiful and harmless.  
  


* * *

  
Hank stands in the bathroom doorway, unnoticed, the razorblade held in his hand. His eyes are wet and staring at the broken flesh where his stitches once stood. Alex's arm is glowing like fire, and the gash is bright, like Alex is pure light on the inside. It fades slowly, down to red to orange to red again, just blood and tissue.  
  
Hank thinks he gets it now.  
  


* * *

  
Fact: Alex has a massive amount of power.  
Fact: Alex can't control that power.  
Fact: Bad things happen when the power is not controlled.  
Fact: Cutting gives Alex control.  
Fact: Everything is okay when Alex has control.  
Conclusion: Everything is okay when Alex cuts.  
  
"Everything but Alex." Hank whispers sadly, but he doesn't add that to the list in front of him, because the list is just for facts. When entering the lab, leave all emotion at the door.  
  
That was easier when Hank didn't have friends.  
  
Hank looks at the small blade that's on the table in front of him. It's such a simple thing, almost innocuous, but Hank had seen it when it was bloody, and he knows that it's anything but. He hates the sight of it, but he can't bring himself to destroy it, not yet.  
  
He needs a new solution first, lest he let the problem persist.  
  
The question is how to give Alex control.  
  
The answer is on the nib of a pen.  
  


* * *

  
"They were rings," Hank realizes with a start. His voice is loud in the quiet of the lab, and it startles him, but only a little, and he rushes to order his thoughts, mind racing.  
  
On the first night, when Alex broke the statue, he showed them his power. The energy was in rings.  
  
Rings. Elliptical, uncontrollable.  
  
Alex needs control, he needs structure. He needs something straight, a line, a beam, a-  
  
"A focal point!" Hank looks at the razor in triumph. He's winning this round.  
  


* * *

  
Hank squirrels himself away in the lab for hours trying to define Alex's energy. He has no way to test it other than through trial and error, so it's well into the night when he finally confirms that Alex shoots plasma beams. He ends up falling asleep in the lab.  
  
The following morning, Hank wakes up with a crick in his neck and ink on his face, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. It's the razorblade by his hand that makes him remember, and Hank feels himself waking up quickly. He has work to do.  
  


* * *

  
It's oddly easy to get obscure materials and rare metals when you work for the CIA. And when you're the resident genius who rambles on about things nobody else can comprehend, people don't ask questions. For this, Hank is grateful. He's also a big fan of priority mail. Working for the government definitely has its perks.  
  


* * *

  
Getting Alex's measurements is... well, it's weird, but it's also incredibly important for this to work, so Hank sucks it up and asks Alex to meet him in the lab after dinner. Alex looks at him suspiciously. Hank is surprised when the blond actually shows.  
  
Any good feelings he'd had on the subject are quickly killed, however, when the first words out of Alex's mouth are, "I'm not gonna fucking talk about it, McCoy."  
  
But Hank supposes he should have been expecting as much. He rolls his shoulders and shakes his head, "That's, uh, that's not what I wanted for you. I uh, I need to measure you. For a suit. Not like, a business suit, but a flight suit. For G-forces. To ease the strain on your body when we fly. So I need to take your measurements for it."  
  
Alex doesn't look entirely keen on the idea, but he concedes nonetheless, and Hank is able to get the required numbers in a timely fashion.  
  
When he's done, Alex leaves without a word and Hank lets him.   
  


* * *

  
It's done.  
  
Hank looks down at the vest with pride. His fingers are stinging from needle pricks, he has a burn or two on his hand, and there's a scratch on his glasses that he's quite certain wasn't there when he began this project, but it's _done_.  
  
Hank takes his time melting the razor blade down to nothing.  
  


* * *

  
Alex goes down to the bunker after breakfast at Charles' request. He's not looking forward to a repeat of last time, even if being underground where he can't hurt anyone is a comfort.   
  
Unfortunately, the bunker is occupied.  
  
Alex groans when he sees Hank, "Seriously, are we gonna do this again? It's none of your business."   
  
Hank is quiet for a moment, one eyebrow quirked in a manner that seems to be very un-Hank if you ask Alex. He starts to unfold the garment draped over his arm and Alex frowns in confusion, "What's that?"  
  
"This," Hank smiles, stepping forward so Alex can get a better look, "Is yours. It's just a prototype, of course, but I need you to test it before I make the real thing, obviously, just in case I messed up somewhere."  
  
Hank holds out the vest.  
  
"Um... What's it for?" Alex asks, taking the profferred article.  
  
"For your powers. It focuses them, so you won't have to worry about losing control. It'll make it easier to aim." Hank explains, but trails off when Alex continues to look at the vest.  
  
"Do you think it will work?" The blond asks quietly, finger tracing the central plate.  
  
Hank nods, "It should."  
  


* * *

  
Hank helps Alex into the suit easily enough, and stands back as Alex takes aim at the mannequin opposite them. He shields his eyes with his arm when the blast goes off, and doesn't look up until he hears Alex's laughter.  
  
Hank opens his eyes to see the mannequin burning where it stands, the surrounding area unmarred. He grins, and is so caught up in his success that Alex is able to catch him off guard and pull him into a crushing hug. Hank hugs back, instinctively, not even caring that this boy hates him because the plate worked!  
  
Hank is grinning brightly, all teeth and crow's feet, and when Alex presses their lips together, Hank doesn't hesitate to kiss back.  
  
  
  



End file.
